“You stay right there Kent—you Man Whore he-slut fuckpig.”
“Ha ha ha!” I laugh nervously. “As long as you tip me!”
One of the soccer mom party-goers lowers her nose to my right buttcheek and—snnoooOOORF!—inhales a line of coke off its muscled crest. After she gets it all in, she flexes both arms down like Hulk freakin’ Hogan, lets out a triumphant scream—WHOOO!!!!—and drums my rumpus with the flats of her palms. Pittapitta SLAP!
Just another Saturday night where I drop it like it’s hot, perform lariat tricks with my ankle-length wiener, and let a gang of horned-up soccer moms have their way with me. Us indie authors usually have something on the side to pay the bills—writing about giant robots and sci-fi wizards may satisfy the inner child, but it sure as hell don’t satisfy the PG&E bill collectors.
Another mom—she’s clutching two cans of whipped cream—runs over to me. She aims the nozzles and—PSSSSHHHHKKKK!!!—envelops my body in a giant cloud of sugared froth.
“LAP IT UP, LADIES!” she screams. “WE’VE GOT A DIRTY, DIRTY MAN WHORE IN OUR MIDST, AND HE NEEDS TO BE LICKED CLEAN!” Then she pins me down and start going to town.
“Ah—stop!” Giggles burst from my mouth as I quiver and jump from a horde of darting, lapping tongues. “You’re tickling me!”
At that moment, their pissed-as-fuck husbands burst in the door. The music cuts off.
“WHAT THE FUCK, CINDY!” one of them howls.
“Oh SHIT!” The soccer mom laving one of my man-curves (otherwise known as the devil’s horns—that muscled groove that leads diagonally from the outer hip down to the womb-hammer) straightens up, eyes widening in panic. “IT’S OUR DICKLESS, CORPORATION-NEUTERED HUSBANDS—CHEESE IT!”
Moms snort their final line of coke, gobble another handful of shrooms, or take one last toke off the DMT pipe before they scramble every which way. As they flood out doors or crash through windows, they blurt out barely coherent spurts detailing a brilliant business venture that just occurred to them, or the terrifying ecstasy of merging with All That is and Ever Was.
In a few seconds, it’s just me and the husbands.
“Uh, take it easy guys.” I stand up and offer up both hands, palms out, fully aware that the only thing I’m wearing is a patchwork scatter of whipped cream blotches, interspersed with the occasional dusting of high-grade cocaine.
“GET HIM!” one of the husbands roars. “BISECT HIM AT THE ANUS!”
They surge forward in a tide of fury-reddened eyes and grasping, clutching fingers. No options left—I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Big ol’ fistfuls of yuppified gift cards—their monogrammed logos glint up at me from between my fingers—appear in my hands. I start chucking them in ninja-like flits like an x-rated version of Gambit from X-Men Blue Team. The air flashes and sparkles with offerings from places such as Old Navy, Pier One Imports, Pottery Barn, and the like. As I throw the cards at the husbands, they expand into actual gifts.
“Ooh! A cleverly shaped wine rack incorporating iconic 80s toys!”
“Whoa! A Navy SEAL-themed can opener!”
“Guys! Look at these t-shirts combining the latest ironic sayings with mildly dissonant images of subversive cartoons! Just the right amount of edginess, yet well within the bounds of political correctness!”
And so it goes. While these poor eunuchs are goggling over their paltry rewards (all of which serve to distract them from the horrors of their acorn-dicked existence), I slip out the back door, jump inside my jeep, and punch it into gear.
Kent Wayne escapes again! Ha HA!
Have you been moonlighting as a sex-worker, and are now being threatened by a horde of angry, murderous spouses? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization, and last but not least, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
Hold on! I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate! If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish. Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens! In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to! Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy! Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts! 😲💪 😜